A LADY correspondent of the Rural World, having been startled by typhoid fever in her neighborhood some time ago, gives the following good advice about dishcloths:— If they are black and stiff and smell like a barnyard, it is enough, throw them in the fire and henceforth and forever wash your dishes with cloths that are white, cloths that you can see through, and see if you ever have that disease again. There are sometimes other causes, but I have smelled a whole house full of typhoid fever in one “dish.” I had some neighbors once—clever, good sort of folks; one fall four of them were sick at one time with typhoid fever. The doctor ordered the vinegar barrels whitewashed, and threw about forty cents’ worth of carbolic acid in the swill-pail, and departed. I went into the kitchen and made gruel; I needed a dishcloth and looked around and found several, and such “rags!” I burned them all, and called the daughter of the house to get me a dishcloth. She looked around on the table. “Why,” said she, “there were about a dozen here this morning,” and she looked in the woodbox and on the mantelpiece and felt in the cupboard. “Well,” I said, “I saw some old black, rotten rags lying around, and I burned them, for there is death in such dishcloths as those, and you must never use such again.” I took turns at nursing that family for weeks, and I believe those dirty dishcloths were the cause of all that hard work. Therefore I say to every housekeeper, Keep your dishcloths clean. You may only brush and comb your head on Sundays, you need not wear a collar unless you go from home, but you must wash your dishcloths. You may only sweep the floor when the sun gets right; the windows don’t need washing, you can look out of the door; that spider’s web on the front porch doesn’t hurt anything; but as you love your lives wash out your dishcloth. Let the fox-tail grass grow in the garden (the seed is a foot deep anyway), let the holes in the heels of your husband’s foot-rags go darned, let the sage go ungathered, let the children’s shoes go two Sundays without blacking, let the hens set four weeks on one wooden egg; but do wash out your dishcloths. Eat without a tablecloth, wash your faces and let them dry, do without a curtain for your windows and cake for your tea; but don’t neglect to keep your dishcloth clean.